Someting New
by DracoMaleficium
Summary: Zuko is sick and tired of living in Ba Sing Se. Jet is too. But he wants to make it better anyway. Jetko, established relationship, your typical "Jet Didn't See Iroh Heat His Tea" plot device.


**A/N**: This piece was written over the summer for The Annual Exchange of Jetko, a very fun fest over at livejournal. My prompter was moonyazu9, who wanted, among other story suggestions, a romantic, relaxing evening for the boys involving a massage and a bath. Well, couldn't fit the bath in there after all and the fic has more plot and angst than my giftee probably bargained for, but at least it still has the massage, so there.

Fair warning: this story involves smut. Quite a lot of it towards the end.

Lots of hugs and kudos to Jin, who did a wonderful job as my beta.

* * *

Zuko _hates_ Ba Sing Se.

He hates the walls which loom over his head wherever he goes, telling him clearly where he stands in the grand scheme of things. Which are, on the whole, a solid, tangible manifestation of the barrier separating him from his former life – a barrier that has now grown pretty much just as impenetrable. He hates this feeling of being locked in, of being confined, _trapped_, not only in enemy territory, but in this mundane, hopeless, day-to-day existence.

He hates the Lower Ring with its countless gray, ashen faces, its dark corners, its small stalls and even smaller, frightened people behind them who look at him with a grim kind of determination – right before they immediately look away. He hates that hole of an apartment Uncle found for them, squeezed in between other holes just like theirs, with paper-thin walls that don't conceal anything and let _everything_ in. He hates the hushed, frightened whispers, the children wailing at night, the guards patrolling the streets, the criminals sharpening their weapons in plain sight, the crowds, the unbearable, suffocating stench of sweat, urine, rot and despair.

Even more than that, he hates feeling the sunlight on his skin every morning, knowing that he can never release the fire it stirs within him, never release the need it awakes in his veins – not here, not where anyone could see, because even the most deserted, smelly alleys have eyes.

At least on his ship he could still firebend. At least then he could go wherever he wanted to go, as long as they had enough resources. At least then he didn't have to worry about where his meals came from, day by day, and there was no sister coming after him with her lightning and narrowed eyes and that mocking smirk.

And even though he didn't exactly relish the three years he'd spent at sea, now, every single morning he wakes up to Uncle's snoring and to the sounds of this damned city which never goes to sleep, well, he'd give _a lot_ to go back.

To be a prince again.

Because being a banished prince was still better than being a _fucking nobody_, a scarred, bedraggled refugee in a sea of people just like him, a sad, angry kid named Li who works in a stupid teashop. He hates the teashop, too, and with a passion; its endless procession of identical customers, little men he has to serve – _serve!_ – and be polite to because they have money and he does not, who feel the need to either look away from his scar or treat him patronizingly, never fails to make Zuko feel like screaming. Every table he wipes, every cup he sets down or clears away, reminds him of _why_ he has to do it in the first place, and then he immediately thinks of Azula, of the Avatar, of father - of _home_.

Every day spent in this smelly shithole is one more day that separates him from his true destiny, from what he was supposed to be, and locks him instead in - in this.

He hates it. Everything about it. Hates the place, the people, the job, even the way the sun feels, hates -

"Hi there, Li."

Jet.

Well… Maybe he doesn't hate Jet quite so much.

"What are you doing here?" asks Zuko, setting down the dirty cups to be washed later, and looks at his – well, how could he even call it? _Lover_ certainly doesn't cover it, _boyfriend_ is inadequate,_ friend_ – no. If he's to be honest with himself, he's not sure just _what_ Jet wants from him, apart from…

Well.

Apparently, the other boy has been engaged in a lively conversation with Uncle. They're both wearing identically wide grins; a dead giveaway that they have just stopped laughing. Probably about Zuko, knowing the two of them.

"Waiting for you," replies Jet smoothly, moving over to him.

Zuko knows what's coming and turns his face away just as the other boy is about to kiss his cheek.

"Hey, don't be like that," murmurs Jet right into his burnt ear. "Just wanted to say hello."

"I told you, not here! I'm working." Angrily, Zuko moves away from him, glancing furtively at Uncle – the old man has his back to them, humming as he brews, seemingly oblivious to the goings-on around him.

Or maybe he simply wants to give the two of them some space. It's hard to tell, sometimes. Zuko hasn't told Uncle about the _thing_ he has with Jet, not exactly – he'd rather deal with Zhao all over again than go through this conversation. There are times, though, when it seems that somehow, Uncle knows anyway.

The fact is, the Freedom Fighter's wild mane of brown hair has become more or less a constant element of the teashop's modest décor. Zuko suspects that Pao's stopped objecting to him visiting the kitchen purely because Jet usually helps them in the back for free. Besides, him being in the back means he's not in the main customer area, ordering the cheapest tea possible and sipping it into eternity, waiting for Zuko to finish his shift, as he was wont to do before...

… before they reached their understanding.

Zuko still isn't completely sure how he feels about this, though, and denies himself the comfort of Jet's touch now, stepping away. Annoyance is still building within him and stoking his inner fire and he doesn't want to talk to anyone for fear he might just explode.

He doesn't deserve this comfort anyway and is selfish for wanting it in the first place.

"Stop that," he says brusquely, stomping to the sink. "I don't have time for this." He doesn't miss the flash of hurt on Jet's face, though, nor can he stop the attack of guilt that rushes at him in response.

He can feel Jet's eyes boring intently into the back of his head – he's felt it often enough now to recognize this tingling sensation. This only prompts him to start furiously scrubbing at the pile of dirty dishes as though they've personally offended him – he needs to get busy before remorse for snapping like that sets in for good. With Jet around, this tends to happen surprisingly often.

Some part of his consciousness that's not seething with rage registers Uncle's gone out to the customers, leaving the two of them alone. He doesn't jump when Jet's hot breath caresses the back of his neck, but only because he's learned to expect that kind of thing from him – they've been, um, together for a couple of weeks now and some of Jet's mannerisms have become rather easy to predict.

Apparently, this works both ways.

"Looks like someone had a stressful day," he hears the other boy whisper and then there is a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles around his tense muscles. "What made you so mad this time?"

"I'm not mad," Zuko growls in response, which is when the universe decides to remind him it hates him – the saucer he's been handling falls to the floor with a deafening crash the moment he closes his mouth.

"Rii-iiight," murmurs Jet; Zuko turns around resentfully to see him snatch a broom from the corner and start sweeping the mess he's created. "You're a perfect little ray of sunshine."

"Leave that," mumbles Zuko, moving to take the broom from Jet. "It's my mess. I've got to clean it up."

"Li," Jet holds the broom out of Zuko's reach. "Relax. I got it. I wanna help."

"Help is always appreciated," Uncle pipes in, returning to the kitchen, before Zuko can do anything else other than scowl. "Thank you, Jet, that's very sweet of you."

"Well, you know I have ulterior motives, Mushi," Jet chuckles once Zuko gets back to his dishwashing. "The sooner Li's done around here, the sooner he can go with me."

"Go where?" Zuko asks quietly despite himself, his eyes fixed on the dishes.

He can practically hear Jet's characteristic, crooked smirk in the other boy's voice as he replies:

"It's a surprise. I've got something special planned for tonight."

Absurdly, Zuko feels his cheeks heat up. He knows that tone. His body knows it, too; mainly, it knows it can expect really nice things to happen to it in the near future. It's enough to make a shiver of anticipation travel down Zuko's spine, accompanied by the usual pang of guilt – the latter, though, has been getting weaker and weaker the more time he spends with Jet. He can already venture a pretty good guess as to what this _something special_ entails.

Besides, it's not like he didn't expect it. Jet usually comes by their teashop this late when he wants to whisk Zuko away to some place or other. And the scary thing? Zuko has come to anticipate it and feels inexplicably down and cranky whenever Jet _doesn't _come.

It's… a weird situation, to say the least. Complicated.

But then again, what about his life at present _isn't _complicated?

"Pao won't let me go early," he finds himself whispering. "We have a full house."

"Well, they all have to go home at some point, don't they?" Jet materializes himself at Zuko's side and starts drying the dishes the other boy has washed. "You're almost closing. You don't have to skip work tonight. There's no time limit."

A stifled chuckle from where Uncle is brewing proves to Zuko that the old man is already in on the plan and probably looks forward to having their tiny living space to himself for the evening. He seems ecstatic that Zuko's found a friend his age and keeps insisting that they spend as much time together as possible, on account on it being "good for him." Maybe he'd even invite that neighbor from downstairs, which he threatens to do every time Zuko has second thoughts about absconding with Jet – this never fails to help him get over his doubts with lightning speed.

Anyway, Uncle bringing a date up to the apartment is not what Zuko wants to think about – _ugh_ – so he quickly focuses on the solid, warm presence by his side, wondering, not for the first time, when it has become so comforting.

It's not that Jet makes him feel safe. Zuko tells himself he doesn't _need _anyone to make him feel safe – he can take care of himself just fine – and besides, Jet is many things, but "safe" is definitely not among them. No, it is a different kind of comfort, one that Zuko needed time to even acknowledge, but one that, by some miracle, can make this entire ordeal of living in Ba Sing Se…

… somewhat bearable.

"What about _your_ work?" he asks, handing Jet another cup to dry. Might as well accept the help this tenacious bastard is so adamant to provide – though Zuko probably isn't in a position to criticize anyone for being a tenacious bastard.

"I finished early," Jet shrugs and hisses as the freshly washed cup makes contact with his skin. "Shit, Li! How can you stand water this hot?"

"By not being a wimp," Zuko murmurs in response, which earns him a playful elbow in the ribs. "You'll never find a stable job if you keep skipping early to come here."

"So do you mean you want me to stop coming?" Zuko can't see Jet's expression, but he can imagine the sideways glance and the grin pretty easily.

They've had this conversation before. Countless of times, actually. Which doesn't make it any easier to admit defeat – and coming to think of it, when did he even start losing this battle? And why isn't he even concerned about it?

The ferry. He's lost it on the ferry, at the very start, when, angry and lonely and desperate, he allowed Jet to kiss him and shove his hand down his robe in the shadows of the lifeboats. He didn't know it then, but it's so obviously, painfully clear now. He never stood a chance.

"I didn't say that," he murmurs and refuses, absolutely _refuses _to glance at Jet's triumphant smirk; the water's getting just a tiny bit warmer.

They clean the rest of the dishes in silence, and then the next bunch as Zuko goes out to clear more tables and accept more money from customers still lingering behind. Jet helps out without a second thought as though it's the most obvious and natural thing to do and chats easily with Uncle about a thousand nothings the way Zuko never can. He helps with the closing up, too, and when Pao finally deems it okay for them to go, Zuko doesn't even have time to say goodnight to Uncle before Jet pulls him out into the dirty, smelly alley by the kitchen entrance, where he grabs Zuko's face and steals the breath out of him.

"Been waiting to do that all evening," he breathes into him, smirking against Zuko's lips. "Missed you."

And it's really stupid, isn't it, the way Zuko suddenly feels all warm and fidgety at such a simple confession, and the way he's envious of the ease with which Jet is able to say something _he_'d have to swallow around a couple of times before letting it out.

A part of him wants to say _I missed you, too_, because oddly enough, that's the truth, and he even tries to open his mouth and draw breath, but it never comes – the words bleed into his throat unuttered and stay there on his tongue, stuck. He clutches Jet instead and rests his forehead against his, hoping that this is enough.

It is.

"I'm tired," he whispers. "I don't really want to go anywhere. Can't we just…"

_Go to your place? Sleep together? Move in each other so that I can forget my real name, even if just for a second? Please?_

Again, he doesn't say it – can't. There is a barrier in his throat that he hasn't learned how to destroy. Jet, however, seems to understand – he kisses Zuko again, more slowly this time, stealing little nips and licks before he pulls away completely, still rubbing circles on the back of Zuko's neck.

"But you must be hungry," he says softly. "C'mon, I've got dinner all prepared. It's not a restaurant or any public place. Just the two of us. It'll help you relax."

And ultimately, Zuko agrees, even if he really doesn't feel like going anywhere. It seems that his ability to say no to Jet diminishes in direct proportion to the amount of sex they've had. Which is a lot.

He allows Jet to drag him through the streets and follows him up onto the roofs, not voicing his surprise at this turn of events; he keeps up with the other boy easily and so they move, two swift, silent shadows against the backdrop of the night sky and the lights of Ba Sing Se, surrounded by the noises of the city, unobserved, anonymous.

The air is clear up here; it's easier to breathe. The noises are not as obtrusive. The crowds stay below, so they are no longer an unbearable nuisance. There's the wind, too, stronger as it gusts over their faces, guiding blissful coolness into Zuko's thoughts. He likes it up here. Even if the walls of Ba Sing Se are more visible this high up, obscured by nothing except the sky, looming like silent giants over the city, it's still freer than down in the streets and the mix of noises below them could almost – almost – be mistaken for the ocean waves splashing against the hull of a ship.

And it's good to be up here with Jet, too. Zuko never had anyone to scale the walls and skirt the rooftops with – someone who could keep up with him, who would share his fondness for high places. It feels… exhilarating.

Sometimes, Zuko wonders how Jet must feel, away from the forest he said used to be his home before Ba Sing Se. The sheer freedom of such a life is difficult to imagine, and even more difficult to imagine is the contrast between that and the despicable walls with their claustrophobic tightness, their suffocating waves of people, their guards and invisible eyes. It seems to be one of the things that draws them to one another – they both absolutely fucking hate this city.

Eventually, Jet stops on the spacious, flat roof of one the higher buildings in the Lower Ring – a warehouse of some sort – and motions for Zuko to come over. When the Fire Nation boy does, he sees a small tablecloth spread out in a corner with a couple of bundles resting on it– as he approaches Jet moves to unwrap two bowls of noodles and a plate of dumplings and lights a few small candles, scattered around the cloth, which he got who-knows-where. Smirking like the smug bastard he is, he invites Zuko to sit down.

Zuko stares down at him and hesitates. It's… it seems…

"Stop treating me like a girl," he grits out, fingers curling into fists on instinct. "I don't need fancy dinners to sleep with you."

Jet arches an eyebrow at him – and is it just Zuko's imagination, or does he actually look… disappointed? "I know," he deadpans in response. "Seeing as you already did and all. Li, I'm _not_ treating you like a girl here. I just wanted you to have a nice evening. Especially since you look like you could use one. Besides," he glances back down at the scene he's prepared, "nothing about this could be called fancy. C'mon, sit down and eat. It's not much, but it's good even if it's gone a little cold."

Zuko wants to argue some more, but in the end, he doesn't – Jet can be just as stubborn as he is and the fight really isn't worth it this time. Besides, it's not that he's genuinely upset by the impromptu rooftop picnic – if he were to be honest with himself, it's quite the opposite. But he cannot possibly show that. He isn't used to this – he doesn't know how to react to Jet with his little affectionate gestures and his desire and his openness and his easy words and sneaky smiles. He's never been the recipient of such behavior before and is left baffled, and it's probably this which brings up his defense mechanisms and pushes him to anger.

Even more infuriating is how Jet seems to understand.

That's how it is between the two of them: him pushing and Jet pushing right back.

Because they're both fighters. They're survivors. Which is another reason why Zuko eventually gave in to all this, he thinks – despite all the baggage that came with admitting Jet into his false life, it's good to have another person who understands what it means to take on the whole world, to keep fighting, kicking and biting.

So he folds his legs under himself as he takes a spot on the cloth beside Jet and accepts the offered bowl of noodles, refusing to meet Jet's amused gaze. They eat in silence and Jet's right, the food _has _gotten cold, and it's agony knowing that Zuko could remedy this so easily, just a moment of concentration and it's done, but he _can't,_ because then he wouldn't be Li, the Earth Kingdom refugee Jet's inexplicably fallen for. Li is not a firebender and that is that.

Jet would probably kill him if he knew.

Which isn't okay. None of this is okay. Lying isn't okay, hiding isn't okay, allowing Jet to see him as someone he isn't is _anything but_ okay. Zuko hates it, but he cannot possibly tell Jet the truth and it's not like he's going to stay in Ba Sing Se forever, is he, and now his thoughts drift down very dark paths indeed, paths which he would really rather not explore right now, so he swallows the discomfort down forcefully just like he swallows the lukewarm noodles. He won't think of this. Not tonight. Tonight he is Li, an Earth Kingdomner on the run from the Fire Nation who tries to start anew in Ba Sing Se and sleeps with another boy, just as angry and troubled as himself.

If he steals a bit of pleasure, so willingly given, while stuck in this monster of a city, who's to blame him?

"What about the Dai Li?" he asks quietly, gazing off into the lantern-lit, noisy night.

"Haven't seen them around here yet," replies Jet, his tone visibly darkening. Those shadowy lurkers creep him out just much as they do Zuko. "They can't do anything to us. It's not illegal to be up on the roofs."

"Read that in the city rules, did you?" asks Zuko, glancing over at Jet, and immediately wants to kick himself; looking at the bits of Jet's history his companion chose to divulge, he doesn't even know whether or not Jet's literate.

The Freedom Fighter doesn't seem to take offence, though; he shrugs, smirking at his partner. "I'm going to believe this until proven otherwise," he states. "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Not that I'd ask, anyway."

Zuko almost smiles. Jet really wouldn't ask.

Then, however, he does; not _for_ anything, but about something, and instantly Zuko's discomfort floods him back with a vengeance:

"So what was it that set you on edge today, huh?"

Zuko stirs his noodles.

"I don't want to talk about it."

And that's only half the truth, because the other half is that he _cannot_ talk about it – cannot confess to Jet that he had to serve two refugees today, men who'd quietly whispered about the Fire Nation, comparing stories of how their lives have been uprooted by the war right until Zuko returned with their tea. The bits he overheard were…

… nothing he wanted to think about.

And the whirlwind of feelings this has sparked is not something he can share with anyone, much less with Jet who gets this dangerous, wild glint in his eye whenever Zuko's homeland is mentioned, and whispers with such bloodthirsty vengefulness about his old life, about his murdered family, about getting back at "those bastards."

Once, he'd touched Zuko's scar in the darkness and promised him they would get back at the Fire Nation for this, too. Zuko was too choked up to say anything but he felt cold shivers run all over him for the rest of the night, long after Jet had fallen asleep.

So instead he looks into his bowl and murmurs:

"Some jerks. Snotty bastards behaving like royalty. The usual."

Jet nods, setting his now-empty bowl aside and scooting closer to Zuko.

"You know, you really shouldn't let them get to you like this," he whispers. "You're cute when you're angry, true, but sometimes it's better to keep that anger preserved. Like, bottled up, to be used when you really need it."

Zuko feels his facial muscles contort at that. "I don't think I can do that," he whispers. "I'm _always_ angry."

And he won't, _won't_ think how Jet's theory about preserving anger to use it at the right moment sounds like something Azula would advocate.

Jet is silent for a moment, regarding him, and then his hand finds its way to the nape of Zuko's neck and scratches, just how Zuko likes it. "I know," he answers, his voice oddly distant. "That's why we should stick together, Li. We _get_ each other. That's how we survive this."

Instead of saying anything in response, Zuko closes his eyes and angles his neck to expose more of his skin to Jet's surprisingly gentle fingers – he doesn't trust his own voice. He hates it when Jet says things like that, knowing how much there is that Jet doesn't even suspect about him. Moments like these make it difficult to even look into his eyes, because then the fear that Jet will finally find Fire in Zuko's is at its strongest.

So Zuko leans into the touch and focuses on it, trying to banish the discomfort, thinking _Selfish, selfish, selfish_, but he doesn't even care. He wants this. He needs this.

Jet understands, or at least he does partially, because he moves even closer, nearly breathing into Zuko's neck, and his hand stops scratching, opting instead to grip his neck and maneuver it to the side to expose Zuko's throat. Zuko immediately sets his bowl to the side and, eyes still closed, waits impatiently for what he knows is coming, shivering as Jet's lips, so infuriatingly close but _still_ not touching, breathe hot, tickling air on his neck.

The bastard's _teasing_ him.

When Zuko can't take this anymore, he snaps "Stop being a dick and get on with it!" and Jet chuckles darkly, as though that's exactly what he's been waiting for.

"Pushy," he murmurs, grazing Zuko's skin with his lips. "Someone's impatient…"

Zuko wants to snap at him again and almost does, but suddenly there is a mouth on his neck, tracing its length, stopping to kiss and nibble at the spots Jet knows are more sensitive, and that's all the Fire Nation prince can think about for a moment.

"Spirits, you smell good," Jet whispers against his skin, his voice low and husky. Zuko loves the sound of it, loves the promise it conveys, and half-turns in his spot to forcefully grab Jet's face, tilt it upward and smash their lips together.

He may not be very good with words, but he understands _this_ and is getting better at this other sort of wordless, basic communication. His fire coils and thrums in his veins as he deepens the kiss, Jet happily allowing him to take charge, and he fears he may be giving too much away – he always does, he's crap at control and he can already feel the candle flames rise in response to his desire – but he cares less and less if that's what can give him what he really wants. Exposing his needs to Jet like that doesn't feel dangerous, not anymore, because he knows now that as long as Jet sees him as Li, he will never hurt him. So Zuko uses this shield, this invisible mask, just like he's used the Blue Spirit mask before, not to disguise himself as someone else, but to be himself without fear and let the desire pour forth.

Maybe that's what makes it impossible to push Jet away, he thinks as their tongues dance around one another, leisurely exploring what they already know so well. The release he provides is safe precisely because it's impersonal. It's something a boy like Li can have, but something Prince Zuko would never even consider.

The kiss turns into an embrace, lips travel all over each other, hands dig into the fabric. Even then, their contact is not rushed – though the need reverberates through both their bodies and sings in a joined, familiar anthem, they don't need to hurry. Jet especially seems bent on slowing down their pace tonight and every time Zuko's kisses and touches get more needy, he finds a way to still them and return to the languidness of before. This puzzles Zuko – normally they don't bother too much with foreplay, only with what's necessary to take the pain away.

"Hey," Jet whispers into his lips after a while and nuzzles Zuko's healthy cheek. "We still have our dinner to finish."

"Not hungry."

Jet chuckles at that. "Well, I am," he says and pulls back; there is a smirk on his face, but somehow, it doesn't seem entirely genuine. There's something lacking in there, but Zuko has no idea what it is that makes him think this. "Relax, Li. We've got the entire night. Enjoy it."

Zuko eyes him incredulously; that's pretty shocking. Jet is usually the one to tear his clothes off him as soon as they find some privacy. "You're kidding, right?"

But Jet is not kidding – he sits back down in his spot out of kissing distance so that only their knees bump against each other, retrieves his half-emptied bowl of noodles and resumes eating, looking out at the horizon as though nothing's happened.

The teasing jerk.

Unable – and unwilling – to stop himself, Zuko calls him as much, which only makes Jet laugh. "Let's just say I'm trying out something new," he says enigmatically with a wink at his companion. "I promise to make it worth your while."

"Messing with me is _not_ new," Zuko retorts angrily, snatching his own meal from the roof and into his lap. It's true. There's a manipulative streak to Jet, one that's so far manifested itself in playfulness and flirting and preparing surprises, but it's there and Zuko doesn't like it. It's another thing that reminds him too much of Azula. And he _hates_ surprises.

Jet's going to have to work extra hard to redeem himself tonight.

They eat in silence and, as time passes, the cool air, the subdued city noises and the nighttime panorama spreading before them contribute to calming Zuko down again somewhat. It _is_ strangely peaceful up here, more peaceful than should be possible in a city so huge and in a district so overcrowded – and, Zuko supposes, the view is pretty stunning. They can practically see as far as the Upper Ring. Which, surprisingly, is dark, as though completely asleep, and seems even darker when contrasted with the billion tiny glows of its poorer sisters. The Middle Ring, a still, glowing sentry, only marks the contrast, its lights bright and rich, with the University a big, unmistakable beacon in the distance.

Zuko remembers the thousand nightly glows of the Caldera and wonders why the Upper Ring, a dark, still mass of solid shadows, seems so – _dead_.

Somewhere out there is the Palace where the Earth King resides. It's impossible to spot from where they're sitting, but Zuko tries to imagine it anyway, recalling an illustration in one of the historical scrolls he had to study as a kid. It's supposed to be huge and impressive, a majestic bulk, strong and static like Earth itself, not at all like his own palace in the Fire Nation whose jagged edges rise like flames into the air and reach up to Agni.

But it hurts to think of home now – there's a dull pang in his chest, a pain as though he's been kicked. He looks away from the darkness far ahead and spots the moving gleam of the monorail, speeding to the Lower Ring on what's probably the last journey for the day. He follows it with his gaze for a while, chewing on his food, and wonders if there are any passengers on board this late at night.

It seems that the only visitors in their district after dark are the Dai Li.

The Lower Ring seems positively festive compared to the other two segments – from where they're sitting it looks like it's not going to sleep anytime soon. Refugees work all hours and some only have time to relax when the respectable quarters of the city go to bed – seedy restaurants remain open, alcohol fills tired throats and conversation floods the streets. Most of the activity is herded into the centre of the Ring, of course, with shadows closing in on it like an ominous wave, but still, life is pumping through the city veins like cheap, second-hand blood.

"Hey," Jet's soft voice jolts Zuko back to reality, "you there?"

Zuko looks at him, then back to the city spread out like a tableau before them. "Yeah," he murmurs. "It's just…"

"Huge, isn't it," says the other boy, also looking out into the distance. "And magnificent."

But the way he says it doesn't make it sound like a compliment.

Zuko glances at him, having the odd feeling that yet again, they think along very similar lines. Ba Sing Se _is_ magnificent, that's undeniable, but prisons can be magnificent too. And the walls that stand guard in the distance, separating them from the rest of the world and cutting a clear boundary between the lights and the night outside, make it clear just what the city really is.

"You miss the forest, don't you," whispers Zuko and it isn't a question; he knows it just like he knows his own longings, so many of them, running so deep.

Jet doesn't reply – he doesn't have to. They sit in silence for another moment, watching life happen below, and then Jet stands up and moves behind Zuko.

"I should probably warn you that I have no idea what I'm doing," he says, the grin finding its way back into his voice, and suddenly the atmosphere is no longer so heavy. "Someone gave me some pointers, but I'm pretty much improvising."

Zuko tries to turn around to face him, but then Jet's cool fingers loosen his collar and snake around him to untie the sash.

Jet's intentions become crystal clear once he slides the fabric down Zuko's shoulders, far enough to reveal his arms and back, and hands land on either side of his neck. Zuko flinches – Jet's touch is chilly – but then his lover begins to move his hands, hard.

It's a massage. The realization is so startling that Zuko almost whips his head around, but Jet prevents him, pressing his neck in circular movements of his palms, his thumbs moving contra.

This feels… good.

"Who did you ask for advice on this?" he asks, mainly to distract himself from pleasure which shouldn't be this strong, but it is. Spirits, he hasn't had a massage in…

Jet's fingers travel languidly down his shoulders, caressing, squeezing and pressing, not always in the right places, but when they do hit a knot of tense muscles, it hurts in _just_ the right way.

"No one." Jet sounds amused, his voice a little strained. "Just a guy I work with."

"You mean this whole thing was his idea?"

"No. It's all me." Jet accentuates this with a kiss to the bared crook of Zuko's neck.

"And how did you… ah… get all this stuff?" Zuko asks, closing his eyes and wincing a little as Jet finds a particularly hard, stubborn spot between his shoulder blades.

"Smellerbee and Longshot helped." His fingers keep moving, warmed up now, up and down, up and down, very slowly, carefully, stopping in particularly tense places and massaging them out until Zuko cannot stop the sighs from escaping his lips. "Man, you're tense."

"Mmmm" is all Zuko manages for the moment – he feels good, really good, and even the pain is welcome. He can feel his body relaxing bit by bit and only then realizes just how much stress he's really stored in his body over the last months.

Years, maybe.

And now Jet's taking it all away, his hands strong, solid and tender. He's careful, almost uncharacteristically so – he's generous enough in bed, but not usually this gentle and attentive. Those are not the adjectives that jump to mind when Zuko thinks of the sex they've been sharing. Now, it's almost as if…

… as if Jet's trying to take them past the sex.

Or maybe Zuko is reading too much into things. Uncle says he tends to do that. Jet said it a couple of times, too, for that matter.

"Do you want me to do you, next?" Zuko asks, eyes going up to the star-sprinkled sky.

"Nah," Jet chuckles. "Maybe next time. Tonight, I want to…" his hands press even harder into Zuko's ribs, tickling the skin a little, "… I want to make it about _you_. Make it nice for you. Let me."

There is something strange in his voice, something Zuko hasn't heard there before. Softness, but also a strange kind of depth and – hesitation? Self-consciousness?

Impossible. It's _Jet_. The very definition of cocky, unshakable confidence. He's _never _self-conscious, not even when he stripped in front of Zuko for the first time, not even when he shoved his hand down Zuko's underwear for the first time on the ferry. Everything Jet does _screams_ infallible self-assurance.

So why does it suddenly sound like it's gone?

"I told you," Zuko mutters, trying to make it sound angry despite all that sensual pleasure nearly overwhelming him. "Don't treat me like a girl to be wooed."

"You make wooing sound so bad," Jet's voice is right in his healthy ear. "There's nothing wrong with a solid bit of wooing every now and then. Just… let me. Please. You don't have to get all defensive about people doing nice things for you, Li."

And there is nothing that Zuko can say to that, so he shuts up, closing his eyes.

He tries to make sense of Jet's unusual gentlemanly behavior as the massage continues, only belatedly realizing that – not surprisingly – it's subtly blending into foreplay. Jet's hands now roam just as much as they work, caressing, softly scratching, feeling up. More and more often they brush Zuko's nipples, which harden rapidly and not at all because of the chill. Jet's fingers slide down his abdomen, linger on muscles.

"I love your body," whispers Jet and Zuko is momentarily startled at how _close_ his voice is, breathing hot air right into his healthy ear.

He shudders, his body responding almost immediately, and he wants to turn around, but Jet still isn't finished – lips have joined his hands in this silent, tangible adoration. "Lie down," Jet whispers after what feels like _hours_ of this teasing and it's pathetic how eager Zuko is to comply – he's more than half-hard already and really, really wants the inevitable conclusion to happen already.

But Jet seems to think he hasn't had enough of teasing yet, because he orders Zuko to lie down on his back instead of his stomach like he was going to, and then Jet straddles him, putting his hands flat palms-down on Zuko's chest.

The Fire Nation boy looks up into his lover's face – his cock twitches at the amount of emotion reflected there. Jet's eyes sparkle as he looks down at Zuko, the hunger that's roaring in him all but tangible. Zuko can practically taste it in the air between them – the atmosphere on their roof is almost as thick as to be carved with one of his broadswords.

He will never _not_ be affected by this, Zuko thinks, holding this entrancing gaze. He won't ever tire of feeling desired. Of feeling wanted, so badly.

And Jet looks almost unearthly now, the way he's sitting on Zuko, his wild mane of hair sprinkled silver by the moonlight and haloed with the glow of their slowly-dying candles, with the ink-darkness of the sky above them and the city noises far, far below. It's almost as if the rest of the world is tuned out, as if it's _gone,_ and they're not lying on a roof-top, under a clear sky, in the most overcrowded human settlement on the globe anymore – they're in their own little cocoon, in a piece carved out from the night for just the two of them.

Jet's hands travel up Zuko's body, slowly, agonizingly slowly, and the two never break eye-contact, so Zuko sees precisely the transformation in Jet's gaze, the growing – _something_, something big, something terrifying and thrilling at the same time, that's taking hold of his lover's face.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly, because it's bleeding into something uncomfortable – the tension is suddenly too much for him to handle because it means something, Zuko is sure of it, but he doesn't know _what _– or maybe is too afraid to accept it.

Jet leans down, his head hovering inches above Zuko's. "Nothing," he whispers back, this new something never leaving his face. "It's just that – you're so – fuck."

And then they're kissing, and this _something_ on Jet's face doesn't leave, no, it trickles into his mouth now in the way Jet kisses him, taking his time, but with warmth and need that's just like his usual self, and the mixture is so unexpected and delightful that Zuko has no idea what to make of it all. So he kisses right back, because what else can he do, and he's trying to match Jet's pace even despite the need to start fucking _right now_ that's flooding him like a vicious tsunami.

Maybe this is the "something new" Jet said he wants to try. Going slow. Being… well…

… affectionate.

The right expression knocks at Zuko's mind shyly when Jet's kissing his chest, leaving a wet trail of warmth on pale skin, with the chill of the air sticking to the places he's just vacated all the more strongly by contrast.

_Making love_.

Is that what tonight is about? Is that what Jet wants? They've never _made love_ before, no – they fucked, and they fucked hard, and there was nothing about it that was even remotely romantic, Zuko thinks, not that he's all that experienced to have something to compare it to. But tonight really _is_ different, what Jet is doing _is_ different from their usual routine of tearing clothes off each other and rabid, impatient groping.

The realization makes Zuko cold with fear.

He's not ready for this.

They're moving on to a whole new level and he doesn't even know if he wants it, he _cannot_ want it, soon he's going to be gone and he _cannot_ think of his life with Jet in it, there's no way that's going to work, but what Jet is doing feels so good and no one's ever done anything like that for him before and oh Agni, it's all so confusing…

"You all right?" asks Jet, moving back up so they can look into each other's eyes, but his left hand is already removing Zuko's pants, brushing his cock in the process.

"What…" starts the other boy, and searches for words, and fails – he cannot very well ask what the hell is going on. "What if someone sees us?" he asks instead, shivering when a warm hand grasps his freed, straining erection.

Yes. Yes…

"Up here? Unlikely," Jet kisses his healthy cheek. "Stop being so paranoid for once, Li. We're safe here. We're starting over. I… I want to start over with _you_. I want to make this right. Let me."

Oh.

So it really _is_ about making love. About starting over. Jet wants to…

He wants to have a proper relationship with Zuko.

He wants their life here to be _normal_.

Zuko looks at him, and about a thousand thoughts race through his head like Azula's fireballs, hot and fast. _What if, what if, what if, No, That's wrong, Impossible, Cannot, Have to stop this, We can't, I can't, That's not…_

But the way Jet looks at him is addictive, is _unbelievable,_ because Zuko never thought _anybody_ would _ever _look at him like that after the Agni Kai, and yet Jet makes him feel attractive and desirable and it's – it's – it's enough stimulation for him, to experience this.

There's no way he can say _no_ now.

"Okay," he says finally and kisses Jet.

He'll deal with the consequences later. He'll think of something. The bottom line is, he _wants_ this, whatever it is. Deep down, he wants to try.

And maybe… well… maybe it _is_ possible for him to have that, somehow. And yes, there will be consequences, but they will come tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'll worry and freak out and think of a way to stop this. Right now, Jet is here, he is warm and tender and wanting, they are on a rooftop in the middle of the night in this city of walls and secrets, adrift in a crazy world that doesn't want them, and they both need the same thing. For this one moment, that's the only thing that matters.

Besides, when it comes down to it, it's still sex, only… slower. Nothing has to change. They're not going to start holding hands on the streets.

This, however, doesn't change the fact that, for Jet, tonight means something, and it's evident in the way he touches and kisses Zuko. The prince allows him to take the lead and walk them through this slowly, even though what he really needs is anything _but_ slow. They kiss, they touch, they run their hands and fingers along skin, they take the time to remove clothes and explore like they seldom did before in the overwhelming rush of lust, and it's new and exciting. Not exactly better – Zuko does like it rough, he realizes, and judging from Jet's labored breathing, they're not going to keep this up much longer – but… nice.

Finally, Jet goes down on him and it's amazing, it always is, and, with the help of the oil they normally use that Jet's wisely brought with him, he prepares him at the same time, which, dear Agni, which is mind-blowing. They're both completely naked at this point, Zuko's rumpled clothing serving as extra cushions beneath him, and Jet tucks some of his own clothes under his partner's hips to make the angle better, then slowly pushes inside. Zuko knows the procedure – they've done it like this before, face to face. He hoists his legs up and supports the right one on Jet's shoulder, while the left one he's pulling towards himself. Relaxing into it is easy tonight, but even so, Jet is very careful and _giving_, he never stops stroking Zuko's cock to distract him and whispers sweet nonsense like he's done all this time, and it's not like Zuko's new to this, he knows it's going to hurt anyway.

He doesn't care. He _likes_ it. The pain takes some of the… well… unearthliness away from the whole scene, adds some harsh reality and reminds him that yes, no matter what they're doing, it's still primal and dirty and exactly what he needs. That, at the core, their relationship is still based around _this_, which is a safe thought and Zuko clings to it, even though it also brings a slight tinge of bitterness.

But then Jet is sheathed inside him completely – and this will never stop being amazing, this first moment of entry, Zuko knows he will never stop being awed by the intimacy and vulnerability and power and _trust_ inherent in sex, no matter if he's the giver or the receiver, it's still mind-boggling when he considers it. He takes deep, deep breaths, closes his eyes and arches up to meet Jet, and then the other boy hooks both his legs around himself and leans down.

"Thank you," Jet whispers.

Zuko's eyes snap open. They look at each other.

And Zuko understands. It's not about tonight – not only, anyway. It's about so much more than that. He knows what Jet means – _thank you for being here, for allowing me inside you, for letting me into your life, for giving me all this, for helping me survive this hell. For not pushing me away_.

He nods, meaning _Thank you, too_. Jet understands and kisses it from his lips.

Then, he starts moving and none of this is gone, exactly, but they're back on familiar ground. Zuko arches his hips into Jet's thrusts in a rhythm that's become familiar by now, their breathing deep and hoarse, their grunts and moans hushed from practice. It's slow at first, just like their foreplay, sweet and tender and _intimate_, but it doesn't take them long to lose it. Soon they are back to their normal passion and Jet starts groaning out words like he always does during sex, things like "Yeah" and "Like that" and "Fuck" and "So good" and "Need you" and "Li", which is music to Zuko's ears even though he himself is silent and would much, much rather have Jet say his real name. He pushes up and the angle is _just right_, and he throws his head back, and watches Jet move over him, that strong, beautiful body dark and with shadows dancing on muscle, with a glowing sheen of sweat slick in the moonlight, with eyes glazed, clouded by sex and pleasure.

Jet is watching him right back, his lips half-open, his breath ragged. Zuko holds his gaze even as he moves into his thrusts, letting him see just what it's doing to him, having Jet inside like that, and this is how they finish, looking at each other, Jet's hand hard and fast on Zuko's cock as they ride out their orgasms, Zuko's crashing on him first, Jet's following close behind.

"Jet," Zuko manages to whisper, breathing out the name like he does air, panting, sweating, his heart racing, the other boy still moving inside of him in final, dying thrusts. It's the first time he's ever said Jet's name during sex – said _anything_ during sex, really – and Jet's eyes soften, the corners of his lips turning into a smile even while he's still panting. He kisses Zuko's lips, then the edge of his scar, then his forehead, and finally collapses on top of him, a slick, hot mass of boneless flesh.

Zuko reaches out and closes his arms around him, looking up at the sky, just breathing, just feeling. Jet still hasn't pulled out and Zuko can feel him softening inside, which is strange and amazing at the same time. The stars look down on their still bodies, now the only source of light along with the bright aura of the Lower Ring as the candles have burnt out completely sometime during all this. The wind blows, chilling the sweat on their skins, and Zuko is glad for the body of top of him even as he subtly rises his already heightened body temperature to lend some of the heat to Jet.

He doesn't know how long they've been there, simply lying on top of each other, listening to the other's breathing, but it feels like almost the entire night's passed when Jet reluctantly decides to roll off Zuko.

"That was…" he says softly, propping himself on his elbows as he looks down at his lover.

Zuko smiles at him. "Yeah," he replies. "It was."

And that's all that needs to be said.

When finally they decide to dress, clean up and leave the roof to climb back down to the street, neither of them is completely ready to part, so they wordlessly gravitate towards Jet's shared tiny flat instead and fall asleep there, together on Jet's narrow sleeping mattress, without waking up Smellerbee and Longshot.

With Jet's arms tightly around him, their bodies sharing heat through their clothes and the memory of pleasure still fresh on his mind, Zuko finally allows himself not to think.

But then _of course_ he oversleeps, and _of course_ he's late for work, and it was a stupid decision not to get back to his own apartment immediately, but even when he's frantically pushing and elbowing his way through the crowd to get to Pao's teashop he cannot find it within himself to care. Jet's morning kisses are still burning on his lips, after all, and his promise to come by tonight rings in his ears while he's almost-running, zigzagging through the throng of people, looking straight ahead and not really seeing anything.

Which is probably why he eventually crashes into somebody, and only when he jumps back does he realize it's a Dai Li agent.

"Look out where you're going, boy," says the agent sternly, but there is something disturbingly akin to amusement sparkling in his eyes as he looks down at Zuko. "And maybe bring more candles next time."

"Wha…" Zuko stutters, eyes going wide, but the agent only smiles at him and gives him a thumb-up before disappearing soundlessly into the crowd.

Zuko stares after him, his mouth open, jaw slack, as the realization hits him.

Fuck. _FUCK_.

… He is never going up on the roofs again.


End file.
